


One Bullet in the Wrong Direction

by comatosc



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Major Character Death only applies to the princess bc she Dead n' Gone, Repost of Restoration of His Pages with tweaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comatosc/pseuds/comatosc
Summary: Some of Inaho's totally harmless inner monologue from ep. 12 (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧





	One Bullet in the Wrong Direction

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched some of my favorite bits of Aldnoah.Zero and I came back to this and yanno???? It's a Good Thing

There was gut-wrenching sobs. Gunshots. Screaming. Before that, a smug _well done._

 

He was sure that he would have, should have, remembered more if he had been in any other condition. Instead, he was offered snippets of things he had said, blurred images of things he had seen. It had resulted in the trivial things like the lively rush of blood between his fingers, his very own hands beating life into a dead girl’s heart, and a sky so blue his heart hurt. He settled for crawling towards her like a dog, rubber soles slipping on the floor and vision fuzzy and red with the blood seeping into his eyes.

 

Inaho's own menial impatience came from the insatiable urge to reach her hand, to trace the lines in her palm, and to promise her that everything would be better next time. He thought of a romance novel, and how the circumstances couldn't be too different. He thought of the shaken, reticent voice coming from behind him and telling him to-

 

"-not touch Her Highness, Orange."

 

He would have laughed at his own crippling misfortune if it hadn't been for the weight of dread on his chest and in his head. He wouldn't have retorted even if he was given a better reason to, and the room had taken on a lovely cadence even after it'd been wrecked and bled on. He gave himself time to think and re-comprehend, then realize that CPR was not going to heal a gunshot wound to the forehead.

 

And so she was gone.

 

Knowing he was at gunpoint and not caring, he turned his head and had enough remaining grit to upturn the corners of his bloodied lips. And he was sure his nose was a mess too, with burgundy scrawled across the bridge, and surroundings so hazy that the flickering lights gave him a pulsing migraine. He didn't even hear himself speak when he addressed his counterpart, the ringing in his ears unequivocally prevented that, but the movement of his lips felt fluid and innate.

 

"Bat."

 

After having said that, he brought his fingers to the holster of his weapon. His gun. And aimed it at the pilot. _The_ pilot. The one he had so boldly proclaimed his enemy.

 

And he should have known that even with a face mussed with tears, Bat would pull the trigger first.


End file.
